


together we'd be deadly

by violentdaylight



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentdaylight/pseuds/violentdaylight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can assure you that I am taking all necessary precautions to ensure Abigail's safety. And mine," Hannibal says, sliding his bloodstained hand into Will's palm like a promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	together we'd be deadly

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at the Hannibal kink meme:
> 
> "The family that kills together, stays together.  
> I don't know, I just want them to be a happy and killing people. 
> 
> Will doesn't need to know about it or participate, but +1 for him knowing and turning a blind eye or throwing the FBI off the scent and lecturing his family about being more careful."
> 
>  
> 
> General warnings for the discussion of violence, murder & disturbing themes.

 

would you kill for me? would you die for me?  
 put your hands where I can see them,   
put them in the air.

 

 

 

Lana Del Rey

 

 

 

 

This is not how it happens:

 _"Ris de veau,"_ Hannibal says, smiling at Will and Abigail over the opulent dinner table and something about the association sends Will's mind spinning with sensation and color like a reluctant engine that is kicked into high gear. The answer is suddenly so clear to him that he has to shut his eyes against Benjamin Raspail's dead face, this is what you missed before , _missed, missed, missed_.

Eyes flying open, he pushes back from the table with enough force to send his chair crashing to the ground. Hannibal dabs at the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

Next to him, Abigail raches out to palm a knife from the table and knocks over Hannibal's glass, the Chianti spilling in a bloodstain pattern on the tablecloth.

"My dear William," Hannibal says. "I do admire your courage, but every game must have its ending."

 

 

What really happens is this:

 _"Ris de veau,"_ Hannibal says, smiling at Will and Abigail over the opulent dinner table.

Hannibal stood beside him when Will reenacted the murder of Raspail, and Will can still feel the hot rush of endorphins in his system, the weight of Hannibal's gaze on his neck that made his skin crawl with something that wasn't fear.

"It looks delicious," Will says, looking straight ahead so he won't miss a second of Hannibal's expression when he takes the first bite of an excellent meal.

 

 

 

\--

 

Hannibal clears away the tiny espresso cups when Will corners him in the kitchen. Will takes his face in his hands and kisses him like he's starving for it, messy and greedy. They part when they hear Abigail's soft footsteps approaching the kitchen, and Will can't tell if it is the thrill of the carefully orchestrated, morbid seduction or the sight of Hannibals lips red and shiny with spit that leaves him desperately hard.

 

 

\--

 

 

There is something to be said about gazing too long into an abyss, but Will is not sure anymore if he is the one who fought the monster, or if it was the other way around all along.

 

\--

 

Abigail dreams.

She has folded her body between Will's shoulder and the armrest of the couch. Her sleep is so quiet that Will reaches out to palpate the butterfly beating of her pulse against her throat. In her sleep she tenses, her hands clenching in a gesture that reminds Will of wringing out a wet towel.

"Abigail?" Will asks, softly. She stirs, her eyes snapping open to a feverish gaze.

"More bad dreams, Abigail?" Hannibal asks from across the room, carefully turning a page.

 Her hair is pushed flat on one side and forms a dark halo on the other, making her look like a demented saint.

 "I was hunting a rabbit," Abigail says.

  _No, you weren't_ , Will thinks.

 "Did you catch it?" he asks instead.

 Hannibal marks his page and closes the book in his lap.

 "No, it got away," Abigail says, leaning against Will's shoulder, her eyes fixed on Hannibal.

 "Don't worry. You have all time in the world to get it right," Hannibal says, and the look she gives him, open and raw and _loving_ , makes Will feel like his lungs are compressed by invisible hands.

 

 

_\--_

 

Will means what he said to Hannibal about the concept of family. It doesn't mean that he's not willing to change his mind once in a while.

He looks it up in a dictionary.

 

 **fam·i·ly** , _noun_

1\. A fundamental social group in society typically consisting of one or two parents and their children.

2\. A group of like things; a class

 

He follows the words with the tip of his index finger until he finds the definition he likes most:

 

 _Chemistry_ A group of elements with similar chemical properties.

 

\--

 

Will dreams of pale mannequin corpses and snapping bones and the soft, wet earth that falls onto a coffin. When he opens his eyes, he can feel Hannibal's solid weight against his back, his breath warm on the nape of his neck.

 Abigail stands at the foot of the bed, scarlet liquid pooling around her collarbones where her throat was slit.

"I'd like to eat his heart," not-dead-Abigail says and Hannibal thrusts the knife into Will's side, turning the handle around in sweet white hot pain.

 Will wakes up.

At his side of the bed, Abigail puts a finger to her lips and slips off her shoes, climbing in beside him to curl up in the space between their bodies, and her throat is _white, white, white, no nightmares here._

 Will makes room for her and leans in to kiss her forehead, careful not to turn his back to the two of them.

 

 

\--

 

 

 _They're going to tear my heart out one way or another_ , he thinks, and it will either mean dying or being reborn.

 

 

\--

 

Abigail's laughter echoes in the hallway.

Will squints against the sudden brightness as Hannibal turns on the lights in the kitchen.

"You were gone for quite a while," Will says, draining his Martini.

"Good tuition takes time," Hannibal replies. His dressshirt and vest look impeccable, but Will can see the blood that has dried on his hands like bruises.

"As long as you were enjoying yourself," Will says, baring a hint of teeth.

Hannibal turns off the water in the sink without washing the blood of his hands.

"We did," he says pleasantly. "Abigail is making significant progress in her education."

"I'm sure she'll give you credit when her mind is dissected by Jack and his bloodhounds. Or maybe they'll give you adjoining cells, that could be cozy."

Will can feel the warm lull of the alcohol, but it's not enough to dull the feeling that has spread from his gut, making him nauseous.

Hannibal crosses the distance between them and takes the empty glass out of Will's hand.

 " _Anger is a short madness_ ," Hannibal says softly, and he is infuriatingly calm despite the way they come home like hunters dragging in a dead deer, their eyes still shining with the high of it, and it's- it's--

 "I'm not angry," Will says, turns around and pushes Hannibal hard against the wall, hands locking tight around Hannibal's wrists.

 He can feel the low thunder of laughter in Hannibal's chest; all his days, he's only waiting for lightning to strike.

 "So, how _are_ you feeling today, Will?" Hannibal asks.

 Hannibal pushes against Will's grip, experimentally, so Will steps closer, trapping him.

 "Worn-down," Will says, because he _is,_ bone-deep tired and aching with some fear that he can't name.

 "Jaded." He swallows against the tightness in his throat. _"Worried."_

Will loosens the grip around Hannibal's wrists, puts a step of distance between them, like he's afraid of having given too much away.

 "Not every single person working for the FBI is a moron, you know," Will says.

 "I only have conclusive evidence in a single case so far," Hannibal says.

_This is the thing about people like him: They don't ever stop until they're caught, or dead, or both._

 "I can assure you that I am taking all necessary precautions to ensure Abigail's safety. And mine," Hannibal says, sliding his bloodstained hand into Will's palm like a promise.

 "You re a goddamn piece of work," Will mumbles, smiling with just the corner of his mouth, inhaling sharply when Hannibal sinks to his knees in front of him.

 

 

\--

 

"You seem worried," Abigail says, handing Will a cup of tea. "Are you alright?"

Will closes the file he's been studying, a report typed up by Crawford's new addition to the Behavioral Analysis Unit: Agent Cooper, an agressively ambitious go-getter who might just have enough dumb luck to actually _be onto something_ in the Ripper case.

 "It's nothing," he says, managing more a grimace than a smile. "Just a minor annoyance, that's all."

 "I'm sure you'll figure something out," Abigail says, leaning down to ruffle Winston's fur.

 

\--

 

 

Every day Will wakes up and wonders how long it will take for the sky to finally come crashing down.

 

 

\--

 

 

He buys Abigail nail polish the color of venous blood. She smiles, kissing him on the cheek, takes the small bottle to the bathroom to paint her toenails.

 

Sometimes, he wonders what Hannibal teaches her that makes every tiled room in the house smell like bleach for days.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

At night, Hannibal drags his mouth down to kiss and bite, pulling sharply at his hair,grabbing fistfuls of his secrets with both hands.

Will can never tell if all of this, still, is a seduction, or maybe the first act of a very elaborate murder.

 

He can never tell if any of it makes a difference.

 

 

\--

 

 

"We're going out!" Abigail calls one Friday night, turning around so that Hannibal can help her into her coat. "Might take some time, and we'll fetch dinner on the way."

Will waves to her from where he's comfortably splayed on the couch with a book and a glass of Hannibal's excellent wine.

Hannibal, for the lack of a better word, _fusses_ with the papers on the desk before sitting down next to Will. He takes the glass from his hand to take a thoughtful sip before handing it back.

"Jack called earlier. Apparently there was a murder, a member of his team was brutally killed in his apartment. Agent Cooper was the name, I think."

Will takes another sip of wine. Red berries, a hint of dark spices underneath. Divine.

"God, that's awful," Will says. "Is the crime connected to the case?"

Hannibal's tongue darts out to wet his lips.

"Apparently there are no obvious leads yet. Jack sent me the crime scene fotographs earlier, he thought maybe I could offer some insight."

Will puts away the glass and folds his hands in his lap.

"Could you?"

There is something in Hannibal's gaze that looks like arousal, and might be something darker.

"In fact, the display of the body reminded me of a scene in the second part of Dante's Divine Comedy, the _Purgatorio,_ a mountain representing the seven levels of suffering. The souls of the envious, the second level, have their eyes sewn shut with iron wire."

When Will offers no comment, he continues.

"Envy, the sin that looks with grudging hatred upon other men's gifts and good fortune, taking every opportunity to run them down or deprive them of their happiness."

"That's a very specific arrangement, isn't it?" Will asks, leaning forward so that their faces are mere inches apart, "Who apart from you would even catch the reference?"

Hannibal swallows, like his mouth is suddenly very dry. It is a rare luxury to see him astonished, and Will cherishes every second of it.

"I have been told that not every single person working for the FBI is a moron," Hannibal replies evenly.

"It is probably no coincidence that Cooper died the way he did while investigating a case that features many... _original_ displays of the crime scene."

"You think that the Ripper did it? Because Cooper got too close to him?" Will asks, conversationally, leaning back.

Behind them in the kitchen, Abigail selects a beautiful kasumi knife from a drawer, turning the blade around so that it reflects the light.

"I think he was protecting his family," Hannibal says.

"Are we ready to go?" Abigail calls from the kitchen.

 Hannibal takes Will's right hand and presses his lips to the place where the blue map of veins meet under delicate skin. Will can feel the sharp edges of his teeth through the caress.

 "We need to continue this discussion in a more suitable environment," Hannibal says.

 

 _Together, we'll bring this world to its knees._ , Will doesn't say, but instead:

"I'm looking forward to it."

 

 

\--

 

 

_This is the thing about people like them: They don't ever stop until they're caught, or dead, or both._

 

 

\--

 

"I'd like to eat his heart," Abigail says, and Hannibal looks up from where the life is slowly leaving the body beneath him.

"I was thinking sweetbreads, actually," Will says. " _Ris de veau._ "

 "I'm sure we can find a compromise," Hannibal answers, wiping his hands on a crisp white handkerchief.

 Will steps forward and slides the handle of the knife into Hannibal's hand like a promise.

 

 

 

 

\-- fin

 

 

 


End file.
